


The Dark Muses Price

by Sparkle 94 (acpendra)



Category: Celtic Mythology, Faerie Folklore, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Irish Mythology
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Instability, Morally Ambiguous Characters, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-12-09 10:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20993216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acpendra/pseuds/Sparkle%2094
Summary: The leanan sidhe is a faerie muse from Celtic folk lore who inspires artistically gifted humans but feeds on them draining them to the point where they live highly inspired but short lives. This is a collection of one shots about various artists and their relationships to their Lenan Sidhe. These are the stories of those who had to pay the Dark Muses price.“I will be posting this story on RoyalRoad.com”





	1. The Dancer

The Dancer 

She’s used to dreaming about dancing slowly straight up a snowy peak, and if she paused, or froze she would fall screaming to her death. She always woke before she hit the ground sweaty and panting; a failure who couldn’t make it. Which is why she doesn’t understand why her otherworldly fairy muse can barely pronounce words some days. Lapin, he calls himself, she can't describe what he looks like because he constantly changes form. It's always men she finds attractive, but must he flit between different bodies so often? It seems so unprofessional, even for a living dream.  
He pushes her until her feet are raw with blisters and her body is about to collapse by the end of their training sessions. Sometimes she suspects he may not understand the physical limits of a human body or even care. He himself glides across the room and she ends up a mass of aching muscles with nothing but tears of frustration for her efforts whenever she tries to mimic him.  
At night, they smash their mouths together in between breathless challenges. She rips his shirt only to receive a smirk that says ‘is that all you got?’ before he digs his teeth into her neck. 

She knows who she; was a starving waif with barely a penny to her name who’s had to claw her way to the stage so even the privilege to dance.  
While Lapin fills the air with mindless chatter, that reveals his wit isn’t exactly burning bright. It occurs to her that he never talks about himself. She doesn’t know where he comes from if he has a family, friends when she asks his usually bright face falls. “I’m not important this is all about yee sweetling,” he says. She catches him glancing over his shoulder. Suddenly her insides feel like ice and she forces herself to forget about it.  
When she dances across the stage for her first big performance, she can't help but feel warmth in her chest as she dances for the world. She looks out into the audience expecting to see him in the front row clapping and cheering her on only for her eyes to flash upon an empty seat. She’s so thrown off, she doesn’t see the falling beam until it's too late…  
“I didn’t think you’d come,” she tells him a week later. she wants to run to him but her crippled broken legs won’t allow her to move. “I heard you got a new dancer.” She tries not to sound bitter, after all, she understands the way this world works that she was always replaceable, but she can't help it. She’ll never reach the top of that peak now.  
“You’ll still visit right?” she can't help but ask hope bleeding through her hard exterior. The quiet devastation on his face says more than words ever could. “Can't you break the rules just once?” she asks him.

“Rules keep us safe,” he responds in a weird tone, then he turns and walks away…  
She’d like to say he’s out of her life, but she knows when she finds money being delivered to her doorstep at about the same time his new dancer becomes a sensation. She wishes she could say she threw it into the fire and laughed at the notion, but the little hungry girl inside clung to those notes saved and scraped every bit she could.  
She sees him one more time in her life at the funeral of his famous dancer who was barely thirty when she died.  
She finds Lapin after the funeral with a different face but still youthful, he sits at her grave tracing the letters with his finger and a look of frustration. “I still can't spell her name,  
she thought me an awful bampot yee know,” Lapin said softly.

“You’re smart about the things that matter,” she says.

“You should not be here,” he warns.

“This was supposed to be me, and as hard as it's been I'm glad it's not,” she admits

. “What I give, does…..” His face squished up in frustration the way it used to when he can't find the words. “ I hate it” he finally settles on. She nods with the kind of understanding that comes from having nothing to do but think.

“ You’ve changed Marnie” he tells her uncomfortably. “ You haven’t, you’ll just keep dropping beams on the girls you like and draining the ones you don’t care for as much” His face pales. “ I should hate you.” the women in the wooden chair with wheels says taking his trembling hand. “ Whatever frightens you so i hope you’ll one day stand up to it,” she adds. He touches her cheek and she sees nothing but raw tenderness on his face. “ I have to go would you like more money?” he asks carelessly.

“ I want to see you dance, one last time” She admits. Lapin lights up and gives her a sweeping bow kisses her hand and obliges he moves like a phoenix rising from the ashes. When he finishes panting and sweating he rises laying one last kiss on her mouth before he departs taking his secrets with him and when she’s old and grey and beyond fear she’ll regret never seeking answers to the many questions she had but will contend herself with the memories she’ll keep locked away.  
The end


	2. The Architect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one has m/m content and implied rape, since this takes place in the Roman empire. It also has some sexual harassment as well. Just putting it out there since, i don't want to hear people complaining in the comments. When an Roman Architect gets a lenan sid he free of charge, he quickly learns the benefits aren't worth the risk.

The Architect   
His muse is exotic looking with a delicate face, a treasure from the East. This otherworldly creature claims it's his true face because the Architect pays so little attention to the faces of boys he finds beautiful that he has nothing to go by when changing his shape. The otherworldly creature says this with a disgusted eye roll which leaves the Architect confused, why should he pay attention to the faces of prostitutes?

Then again, Revy as the creature calls himself is the angriest person the Architect has ever met. Jupiter, that boy could rage destroying whole rooms in his wrath, smashing expensive objects left and right. He knows that their situation is not ideal. Revy being bound to an artist who rejected him by magical bonds. However, he’s trying to make the best of things he just wishes Revy would lose that sour expression…  
“Yes, yes!” Revy cheered as him and the Architext watched the two chariots go toe to toe. “Come on, come on!” The Architect was particularly biting his finger with anticipation as their champion raced toward the finish line only to be passed by another chariot “ No!” Revy lamented as the other one took the win. The Architect shared his disappointment until the winner took off his helmet to reveal a very handsome blond boy who flashed the crowd a perfect smile. “ What!” Revy gasped beside him…  
Revy dragged the stunned Architect to catch the chariot racers as they were leaving. “Lucien!” he called.

The boy turned his face lit up. “Revy, small world,” he commented.

Revy grabbed him roughly. “If you get hurt publically,” he seethed.

“Everyone will think I’m half-god or blessed by one,” the blond boy said smoothly.  
“There are rules,” Revy argued.

“You sound like Adonis,” the blond complained.

“Don’t compare me to that ass!” his muse raged. He gave the Architect an intense look. “I take it this is your artist?” The Architect flashed his wrist where Revy’s name had seared itself into his skin. “You’re being good to him? If not, I’ll have to kill you.” Lucien said it lightly, but there was an edge to his laugh.  
“He’s fine,” Revy said a little too quickly. “I’ve got one too, he’s a sculptor of course.” His tone was flippant.

“Lucien!” yelled a voice as a rough-looking man came into view. The Architect knew him.

“You?” Marcus said awkwardly. Suddenly, he flashed back to the feeling of rough stubble pressed against his jaw and wet kisses, hands that were rough from working with stone, but oh so gentle in their administrations. He masks his expression yet Lucien catches his expression judging by the brief smile that touches his lips…  
“There’s a dinner at my artist’s home tonight,” Lucien remarks casually sipping his wine as a slave refills his cup.

“I could be charged for ruining his future,” the Architect argued.

What if it's the will of your gods? Would you spit in the eye of Venus” the blond coaxed.  
“I’d be safer with a slave boy,” the man argued.

Lucien turns away briefly, his shoulder tightens then he turns around his smile friendly. “You might not get another chance, Marcuis barely leaves his villa,” he explained.  
“He came today,” the Architect remarks.

“Yes a rare occurrence.” Lucien’s friendly expression tightens…

“What purpose could Lucien be moved to?” Revy wondered aloud.  
“The happiness of his master,” the Architect suggested.

“Don’t be fooled, Lucien does not care for his artists,” his muse retorted as he kicked the sides of his horse lightly. Revy had come to him not even knowing how to mount a horse and the man had taken a few weeks to remedy that. Honestly, what boy didn’t know how to ride? Riding was one of the only few things that lifted the usual sour expression from the boy’s face.

“Are you sure you’re not one of the nine muses in disguise?” the Architect asked.

“I’ll pretend I didn't hear that.” Revy scowled at him.

“There it is. I was wondering when your shy smile would retreat.” the Architect teased.

“I was wondering when your oder would retreat,” Revy retorted.  
“Lucien seemed admirable toward me,” the man stated. “You know him better than I, you suspect him of ill intent?” Revy paused then nodded. “Then we shall be moved to purpose to discover his plans.” The Architect nodded…

“I've packed us lunch and we’re not going, “ Revy realized at the sight of the Architect pouring over design plans.  
“The esteemed senator has a special request for us to fulfill.”

Revy sneered. “I’ll send a slave to take care of that other business.” Revy turned and walked out of the room and the Architect heard the sounds of expensive pottery breaking and also the smashing of what was most likely a table. Groaning the man flicked the wrist with Revy’s name on it and an invisible force dragged the boy back out by his ankle, depositing him none too gently on the ground.

“You are not going to behave like a squalling brat,” the man lectured.

“Bastard!” Revy spat at him hissing more profanities.

“Don’t make me beat you.” Revy shut his mouth firmly after that…

“My most esteemed and humble…” The slave girl was cut off.  
“Get ta the point,” Revy said.

“I saw Lucien embrace one of the senators,” she said meekly.

“Was it a friendly embrace or a lover’s embrace?” the Architect demanded.

“It was a lovers embrace,” the girl said firmly.

“Thank you, Media, you did well.” Then he sent her away.  
“He means for Marcus to be distracted by me, so he might set to purpose his own love affair.” the Architect stated.  
“With the Senators purse,” Revy scoffed………………………………………………………

“So now you know,” Lucien said hanging his head as they sat in the bathhouse.  
“I can't bring myself to support this,” the Architect protested. “The love object should never pursue,” he added   
“Deceptive or not, it's in our interests,” Revy declared.

“No, he’s right, the truth must be known.” Lucien sighed disrobing and turning to the bath. Revy’s eyes flickered to the other boy’s bareback, they widened slightly. The Architect didn’t blame him, Lucien’s thin athletic build was very nice to gaze upon.

“Wait, I’ll tell him,” Revy replied. 

The Architect scoffed. “You’ll make things worse with your temper,” he warned.  
“I know exactly how ta play this, trust me,” Revy said looking at Lucien who nodded.  
“I'll help you,” he agreed...

“I’m glad you decided to come to visit me at my villa.” Marcius smiled at the Architect.  
“My wife, Cassia.” Revy stared a little too long at the beautiful dark-haired Grecian women. Lucien fought to hold back his snickers only to get sharply elbowed in the ribs by the object of his ridicule.

“Welcome.” The woman smiled gently. The slaves poured the wine and conversation began.   
“When I marry, I can only hope to have a wife as beautiful,” the Architect said, gazing at Cassia.

“When you marry, you‘ll settle for a wife half as beautiful. As the pretty ones will be running away from your ugly face!” Lucien taunted. Revy and Marcus laughed.

“Easy for a boy, have you ever had a woman?” The Architect retorted. 

“If you mean is my name known by every female prostitute in Rome, then no,” Lucien smirked at Marcus.

“My name is on the lips of every whore which does my prowess justice,” the man boasted.

“Not when the name is followed by “Oh, Juno, that is tiny!” Revy interjected causing them all to laugh again.

“Ganging up on your elders, are we?” Marcius grumbled. Lucien kissed him sweetly on the cheek.  
“Well don’t be womanish about it if you’re going to lay one on me boy,” the sculpture declared.

“Careful Marcus, I do have two fists,” Lucien said.

“Can you use them is the question. Or are they as useless as the rest of you? This one can't even help me get a face right!” Marcus declared. “And a whore may cost more, yet it whines less,” Marcus added with disdain. Lucien tensed next to Revy, his smile grew bigger.

“Even this is useless.” Lucien slapped Marcus’ hand away from his thigh, wincing as if struck by an invisible slap.

Marcus laughed. “I didn’t even want a muse, and I get the worst one.”

Revy interrupted him. “I’d like to take a look at your gardens,” the second Leanansidhe said. “You want to take a walk?”  
Marcus stood up. “Come on boy, this way.” The two of them left the wife and slaves had long been dismissed. 

“I'm starting to remember what an ass Marcus can be,” the Architect said.

“Let's not talk about him,” the blond responded pouring him another glass.

“So how long have you and Revy known each other?” the Architect asked.

“We helped build Mesopotamia together,” Lucien stated.

“You are old,” the Architect chucked.

“I talked to the descendants of someone I knew from a hundred years ago,” Lucien said.

“Has he always been sour?” the man asked.

“Revy and I helped shape some of the biggest civilizations in history. All that kicking and clawing wears a person down.” He paused.

“You either do whatever you have to do to survive or lay down and die, wouldn’t you agree?” Lucien asked him.  
“It is the Roman way,” the man said. Lucien kissed him. “Your artist is right outside in the garden.” the Architect reminded him with what little common sense he had left.

“Then let's be loud,” Lucien said with conviction leading him up and leading him down the hall to another room…

The Architect groaned as he rose his arms only to find himself tied to the bed. He wiggled about, but the knots were too tight for his strong body. “Lucien, were you not sated?” he complained.

“I’m just preparing breakfast,” the blond replied.  
“Haha, I get it now untie me,” the man said.

“They say ‘no’ isn’t the worst thing you can hear. To one of us, no from an artist means a whole human life span as a puppet.” Lucien said casually. “A punishment for not being good enough,” he added.

The man struggled harder. The blonde grabbed his wrist. “You waved this whenever it suited you, got all the perks of having a muse, while Revy received nothing.” The man looked at him feeling fear for the first time. “Enough talk,” Lucien declared as he spread out his hands to reveal his pores opened up like the cups on the tentacles of a squid and attached them to the Architect’s head……

Lucien removed his fingers from the limp body of the Architect just as Revy opened the door. “When yee signed yee wanted me ta kill Marcus in the bathhouse. I didn’t think you’d kill me artist ta.” he scolded.

“I was hungry,” Lucien said without the slightest bit of remorse.

“And you tried to convince him to join the Roman army, so don’t pretend you’re torn up inside.” the blond said.  
“We had a big project coming up,” Revy sighed.

“Always the perfectionist.” Lucien rolled his eyes.

“What about Cassia?” he asked.

“Property is in her name, but if you want to comfort the poor widow,” Luicen teased

“I doubt she wants ta be with the person who killed her husband,” Revy scoffed.

“Knowing Cassia, that will improve your chances,” the blond laughed.

“You think so?” Revy sounded hopeful.

“The least I can do considering I had your artist both ways,” Lucien said.

“Yee didn’t.” Revy sounded horrified.

“I don’t understand, even if you did have sex with him, it would only be almost friendcest,” Lucien teased.

“Where do you come up with these ideas?” Revy groaned in disgust shoving him as he laughed. Then silence settled over them.  
“We have to go back,” Lucien said.

“I know, just one more day, please,” Revy begs.

“Fine, you wanna steal some chariots and drive them through the city causing utter chaos?” Lucien asked him.  
Revy ran out of the room yelling, “Last one there is a blind Hydra!”   
The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rome believed in sexuality in terms of who was the passive vs active role during sexual intercourse. This meant any male citizen of high status who took a passive role during sex was viewed as un masculine and a disgrace to their family. Under the law of Lex Scantinia they could even lose their citizenship/ protection under the law for well bottoming. Passive behavior was associated with slaves and lower born citizens. Male and female Slaves, prostitutes and war captives were fair game for Roman citizens as long as they took the active role during sex. And even more disgustingly freeborn roman citizens could sexually assault any of these groups and not be charged. 
> 
> According to Irish/Scottish mythology if a lenan sid he was rejected by their artist they become the artists slave. I always thought that had some disturbing implications, i wanted to explore. Also i find it hard to believe an faerie muse doesn't have a back up plan if that happens.


	3. The Director

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Director of a Horror special meets a Dark muse she's apprehensive about makeing the deal, but the final choice may in fact be out of her hands.

The Director first saw him in the studio. He must have been one of the extras, in fact, she might have completely overlooked him if she hadn’t needed a last-minute fill in for the host of her usual Horror program and she hadn’t heard him speak a whisper through the trees that gave her delightful chill. Also, his appearance was unnerving, he was so skinny, his bones poked out of his skin in places, his hair was silver and there was something unsettling about his eyes. “You, fill in for the grotesque ghoul,” she said sharply practically dragging him in front of the camera.

He seemed nervous at first and the Director thought she was going to have to do several takes but to her surprise, the boy smiled mysteriously and delivered his lines with an edge of playful menace and a hint of sexuality. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, there was a strange kind of allure, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Cut, okay kid, dial it back our audience is mostly men,” she advised “But otherwise that was tubular,” she admitted. “You do any acting?” she asked 

“Most of my life,” the boy said in an odd tone. Maybe he was trying to make a joke but she couldn’t tell…………………..

“How would you like being the host?” she asked after they were done.

“I couldn’t do that to the grotesque ghoul.” The boy shook his head.

“I was thinking more two hosts,” the Director stated.

“Ciar! Mrs. Grimm, I'm terribly sorry my nephew is a bit of a handful.” Billy Kranston, one of the screenwriters, stammered.

“This is your relative?” the Director asked. “Can you get me his parents on the line?” 

“He wasn’t causing any trouble,” Billy blanched.

“No, I want to offer him a job,” she responded.

“Sorry, his mother she... doesn’t like him in front of the camera,” Billy said. 

“Let me talk to her.” the Director insisted, she was pretty sure she could persuade the mother. What woman wouldn’t want her son to be a star?  
“You don’t know his mom, I better get my nephew home.” Billy started to steer Ciar away, he looked back at the director.

“Goodbye, it was nice meeting you”. he said softly………………………………………………………………..

The Director turned to her secretary. “Could you do me a favor and look up Billy Kranston’s sister?” she asked.  
“He doesn’t have any siblings.” The Director thanks her and left anger building in her. He lied! Then confusion filled why did he lie? Who was that boy really?.........................................................................................................................

She stood outside the door to Billy’s one-room apartment she was about to knock when she heard yelling.

The Director knocked on the door firmly, something was definitely going on.

She waited a minute and then the door creaked open to reveal Ciar the zombie t-shirt he wore was hanging off one of his bony shoulders, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth then vanished as quickly as it came. “Mr. Kranston, I know you're in there are you going to continue to behave in an unprofessional manner or confront me like a man?” the Director demanded.

“Ciar, invite her inside.” The silver-haired boy inclined his head and motioned her into the small apartment. The Director sat on the couch trying not to focus on how little room there was between her and the walls.

“Ciar is not your nephew why did you lie to me Mr. Kranston?” she demanded. 

“Told you she’d find out,” Ciar said in a sing-song voice sitting down beside her the tv was set to low volume in the background.

“Well, I guess the jig is up as they say.” Billy Kranston locked the door behind him. “Can you remove your glamour stuff it itches,” he added.

Ciar went up to him and appeared to be blowing on Billy a shimmer of something fell to the ground to reveal a grotesque blob with pointy teeth. The Director should of been terrified she should've run for the door her survival instincts screamed at her to do this but instead. She moved closer ignoring common sense

“There, really is a shadow world,” the Director breathed.

“And we need creative minds like yours to breathe life into it,” Ciar said he stood up and twirled around her with childish enthusiasm.

“They don’t appreciate you, giving you specials instead of movies.” There was a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “Horror finally has a secure footing in the industry but they’ve gotten lazy, I want you to help me shake things up.” Ciar extended his bony hand……………………………

“So you're telling me you're a magical Fairy Muse who has influence over the arts and you want to teach me everything you know and work with me on a big-budget horror movie?” she asked sitting down on the couch. Ciar nodded. “How do I know you’re worth it?” The director asked.

Ciar pulled a long list out from his pocket and handed it to her. “Here’s a reference,” he said.

“That’s it?” The Director was baffled.

“It’s all I need,” Ciar said a matter of factly …………………………………………………………………………………

“Hi, this is Madam Grimm, I’m the Director of Flicks from the Swamp. Someone named Ciar is offering me his services.”

The response was instant, “Oh Ciar is great, granted I haven’t made the deal but he’s done some side stuff for me and we have a mutually beneficial relationship,” said someone with an Italian accent over the phone.

“Could I get a side job thing, instead?” the Director asked him.

“Why don’t you talk to his clients as they say?” the man responded.

“He hasn't given me a list,” the Director said with a touch of annoyance.

“No problem your first reference will be here at 12:00 sharp on Monday,” the man said. “Goodbye Mrs. Grimm.” Then he hung up……………………………………………………

“He’s like a magical fairy godfather only instead of a fancy dress and slippers of glass you get your novel on the bestseller list practically overnight. Forget the bloody prince, i’ve got royalties,” the English women sitting across from the Director said.

“Ciar is like an agent, critique partner, creative writing class, and co-writer wrapped into one very bony package. Whatever he can't do he knows someone who knows someone.” the other woman explained.

“Does he know anything about film?” the Director asked.  
“If it’s Horror he knows his stuff,” the woman reassured her. “I was skeptical at first. Making deals with magical beings seems like a barmy idea, but it's done wonders for my career.” 

“Well, I must admit the secrecy surrounding the whole thing is rather exciting,” the Director admitted unleashing some of her giddiness. “ I know the whole time there's this secret world that few know about. It's like an exclusive club.”

The British woman grinned at her. “I’m supposed to tell you when your next reference arrives,” she added glancing at her watch. 

The Director saw references all that week at different times. There was never a pattern from all different parts of the world each leaving quickly all of them saying when the next one would arrive, each of them had nothing but praise for Ciar’s services. She was starting to actually consider the idea as her nine o clock entered the room “I don’t think Ciar is for everyone.”

The Director straightened up, “Are you displeased with his work?” she asked.

“He’s fine as a co-creator” the man admitted.

“I work with lots of people I don't like.” the Director stated.

“It's part of the business side of things,” the man agreed he looked like he wanted to say more but fell awkwardly silent………

“Well you have very good references,” the Director said. “So what’s your price?” she asked him.

“I get to draw on your creative energies, it’s my fuel,” Ciar explained.

“I didn’t even know I had those,” the Director responded.

“After a while, you won’t even notice,” Ciar promised.

“So do I sign in blood?” she joked.

Ciar pulled up the back of his shirt. “Sign here.” His body shimmered and suddenly the Director saw transparent images of skulls and coffins dancing behind him and weaving themselves into his hair. The color of his magic was as black as his clothing. 

The creature known as Billy placed a pen in her hand.

“I’m not sure your skin is exactly binding.” She laughed.

“It's better than your silly little papers,” Ciar retorted. The Director sighed and wrote her name on his back his skin shimmered again and Ciar reeled back with a sharp cry his shirt fell back down.

“Ciar!” she grabbed him in concern.

“Fine…it means it worked,” the Faerie boy replied brushing her off. 

She marveled at his true form his skin paler, his body was more skeletal, his teeth way too white and perfect. A weird mix of the grotesque and human she found her gaze drawn to him even more. She traced her hand over his pronounced cheekbone, his shimmering skin, his bony shoulders his body felt stiff under her touch but far warmer than she expected his cheeks were flushed.  
“So this means you’ll be my horror host?” she asked him.

“You’ll be too busy with your own projects to worry about that.” Ciar’s laugh was a dry rasp.

“Well I’d love to start right now, but it is getting late. First thing tomorrow?” she asked.

“Sure, goodnight.” Ciar’s tone was polite but to her surprise, he pulled her into a hug. He released her just as quickly a nervousness in his eyes.  
She smiled at him in reassurance. “See you tomorrow my Dark Muse,” she said.

“Here, Billy can walk you to your car,” Ciar said.

“Allow me.” Billy made himself look human and opened the door gallantly and let her through. Once the two of them were outside and walking away from the house the creature turned to her.” So you’re aware of the actual cost?” the creature asked her.

“I was informed about the feeding,” the Director remarked.

“What did they tell you?” he asked.

“That Ciar was delightful to work with,” she remarked.  
Billy laughed a bitter ugly sound. “Ciar is delightful or at least that’s what you’ll tell your replacement,” Billy adds a matter of factly his eyes turning to slits. He reaches out a clawed hand and opens the car door for her.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Ciar’s affection is like a sunny day before an endless hail storm...” Billy paused.“I’d kill to feel the sun on my face again," he stated a matter of factly. The Director felt her blood freeze. “But then I’d have to compete with your memory,” he said as if this was a great bother. “Good night, Madam Grimm.” He slammed the car door shut with a chilling finality.  
The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think by this point the Lenan sid he have developed a more effective system over the centuries and have their hands in multiple creative industry pies. Billy was created strictly becuse i had difficulty seeing Ciar take full charge of any situation.   
i actually wrote three versions of this story changeing the age and artist of the female pov character. I couldn't decide whether Ciar drove her to murder or she just took advantage of him and he snapped but in the end i decided since i didn't know how they ended up so why not just write the start of their doom ridden relationship.
> 
> I had fun with the Directors attraction to Ciar, after years of reading about women drooling over the same dam six pack stacked guy with dark or blond hair. Its fun for me to imagine people who are attracted to unconviential male body types or even better the personalities behind them.


	4. The Composer

The Composer  
His fairie muse takes the shape of a fat girl for some reason, the hair was his choice though, a rich auburn color. She insists on curtsying when she’s introduced and always knows the right spoon to use at a formal dinner party. She’s the take change type and they’ve often gotten into fights over what note to use whenever they’re composing a musical score together.

He was skeptical when they first met, but when she puts her hands on his head he hears the sweetest music he’s ever heard, and suddenly, his quill can't move fast enough as he trembles with excitement. 

“I can help ya play music better than that,” she croons. 

So the bargain is struck, he lets her devour his creative energies and devote his life to her and she’ll make him great; a living legend, as she has many who’ve come before him. 

When the money comes in they start to throw parties to attract generous benefactors. Calypso, his fairie muse, plays the demure hostess to perfection, not everyone is kind, but his girl brushes off unkind remarks with remarkable grace and poise. Yet she’s careful to never upstage him which he finds refreshing, a nice change from the gossipy shrews nowadays, who always have to be the center of attention. 

She’s quite fond of fashion often gushing over the latest trends, asking in the politest tone of voice if she could please buy a new hat or dress. Since Calypso lets him control the purse strings while she manages the house. It how things should be done they both agree.

Though he soon regrets it when he realizes she’s sent quite a few housemaids packing and left the others in tears. “Yee agreed the household is a ladies domain,” Calypso said in her sweetest voice.

“Well yes ...before I knew you were harming the help,” he argued.

“I’m helping them, they’ll never find husbands with that kind of attitude,” his muse points out. “What would yee say if I suddenly had opinions about the politics of all things?” She made a scandalized face.

“Can you at least go easier on them? I don't know about you fairies but we humans are civilized.” he settles on.

“Of course, you know best,” she tittered. Why did he sometimes get the impression his muse was mocking him? ........

“ I’ve noticed darling yee stand in the corner during every waltz” Callypso brought up gentally 

““I’ve noticed darling yee stand in the corner during every waltz” Calypso brought up gently 

“Well…….I find myself…...to say I ……….promise you won’t laugh?” the Composer said “I’m here ta assist not mock” Calypso promised.  
“I never learned to dance” He admitted………………………………………

“One, two” Calypso fought a grimace as he nearly missed her toes. “Oh my dear Calypso I’m so sorry” the Composer felt like a simpleton. 

“I’m the one who should apologize, I went far too fast” 

“You are a spirited dancer my lady” the Composer chuckled. 

“Hundreds of moonlight dances in the same garden Darling” she responded as they moved………………………..

“ I find Jenny Lands performance far superior” The Composer remarked 

“ Yes however I believe Sophia had far more energy and passion even if her vocal lands were not quite there yet” Calypso responded.  
“ Do you muse for singers?” he asked her 

“ Heavens no, unless the Singer happens to compose their own pieces” Calypso remarked. “ How do I put this, Singers are like the display cases, for the musical piece” she revealed.  
“ Don’t tell Jenny that” He chuckled. 

“ Her pride is a cross we both must bare for the sake of the arts” Calypso retorted. 

“Do you like gardens?” The Composer asked her after he finished his dinner “There’s quite a nice one not far from this estate” he added. “Am I being asked ta accompany yee?” Calypso inquired. 

“Would you Lady Calypso accompany me on a midnight stroll?” The Composer asked her offering his arm. “I’d be delighted” she responded………………………………………..

“How marvelous Camillitia flowers” the Fairie girl inhaled them sighing. “I used ta press flowers” she confessed.  
“Used to?” he asked 

“Me book got destroyed after that there wasn’t much point” Calypso looked melancholy. 

“I’m grateful to you for not laughing” The Composer stated. “Would one laugh at a duck learning ta swim or a bird learning to spread its wings?” Calypso asked him  
“You think I’m going to spread my wings?” he asked

“I believe yee are going ta soar though the skies” she reassured him “Surely I’m not the first person who told yee that” 

The Composer fell silent “my Father never wanted me to pursue a musical education” he admitted. 

“I can’t picture yee as a Magistrate or Banker” Calypso responded. 

“What about you?” he asked 

“Even if there was another choice, I would not take it” the Fairies’ girl responded……………….

“Shall I begin?” The Composer asked opening the book as Calypso snuggled under the covers beside him in their rather large bed. Normally they used every inch of that bed but some nights they were too drowsy from the stress of promotion and organizing concerts to enjoy each other in the physical sense. The Composer cleared his throat and read aloud bringing to life a tale of adventure and danger. He was almost at the end of the first chapter when he looked over and saw Calypso snoring. Smiling gently he pressed a kiss to her forehead and blew out the candle. 

A few minutes later he heard the sound of panicked cries and saw Calypso kicking and whimpering he reached for her grateful not the first time for her glowing skin “Shhhhhh shhhhhhh its ok your safe my lady, your safe” he muttered into her ear until he felt her relax against him and her legs stopped trashing this was such a common occurrence it too had become part of their nightly routine……………………………………………..

“What do you dream about?” he ventured to ask her that morning. 

“I never remember me dreams” Calypso admitted as she sipped her tea. 

“They don’t seem like good dreams” he says carefully. 

“Just flights of fancy yee know how easily upset we women are” Calypso chuckled. That was true but still the Composer was unsettled…………

Things were good, concerts, great reviews until the day the Composer saw his great Aunt Genny who was long since dead standing at the end of the hall. He blinked and she was gone. Soon, he started to see more things that weren’t there. He was able to hide it until one dinner part when he jumped up onto the table thinking it was dry land to avoid the ocean. Luckily he managed to pass it off as too much to drink.

While his guests laughed he saw something of knowing in Calypso's face. After he took her aside, and in his most authoritative voice demanded to know what was going on. The muse tried to avoid the subject and he had to be quite firm with her before she broke. “The feeding it takes its toll on the mind,” Calypso explained.

“This was something you failed to mention,” he said coldly.

“Death and madness, could you imagine a lady such as myself discussing such things?”

The Composer glared at her. “I will continue to make art, however, you are never to feed on me again.”  
Calypso lowered her head meekly. “As yee wish, me darling.”...

“Happy fortieth birthday.” The Composer beamed at all his party guests. “Thank you all for coming this old fart’s birthday!” The guests laughed. “It has been a long hard struggle and I never would've made it if it wasn’t for my lovely mistress; Calypso Franchesca!” Everyone clapped for her as he flushed radiantly.

Later after all his guests left the Composer turned to Calypso. “Why don’t we just get married?” he asked her.

“I…..I can't.” Calypso ran out of the room and upstairs to her chambers slamming the door.

“Calypso, Calypso, can we talk about this?” the Composer demanded. There was no answer he threw open the door He gasped in horror Calypso's plump face was rotting off, he saw a worm in her left cheek, and gagged from the strong odor. Her shoulder, her leg, all of it was deteriorating.

“No, no I never wanted yee ta see me like this.” She hid her face.

“You were hiding this.” he gasped.

“Faerie glamour,” she admitted sadly.

“This is because you stopped feeding on me,” the Composer realized in horror.

“Things don’t have ta change, let me put me glamour on, and we’ll forget this ever happened.” Calypso smiles at him.

“No, we can't, one of us has to die,” he realized.

“Now you see why I can't marry yee. I don’t even belong ta meself.” Calypso said somberly.

“You hide all that pain for my sake,” the man said in awe.

“A proper lady never complains,” she said with a laugh that almost sounded like a sob.

“Take it, take my energy,” the man insisted. 

“You’ll go mad and then you’ll die!” Calypso shook her head fiercely.

“And if I live it’ll be with the knowledge I watched the women I love to die in slow agony.” He took her hands “It’ll be a short life, and it won’t be easy, but I'll have you and that’s all I need.” the Composer vowed.

“Is that really what ya want?” Calypso asked him 

“Yes.” She placed her hands gently on his temples and he felt her slowly sucking the energy out of him, however, the only thing he focused on was how her face was filling out and her rich auburn hair curled down to her neck as it once had. She released him and he swung her around laughing as she kissed him. Feeling swept up in the moment he took out the very thing he had wanted to show her—a ring.

“Calypso, my muse, will you marry me?” he asked.

“I can't have children,” she told him. “Mothers are wives, and wives are mothers,” she added.

“My career is too demanding for children, anyway,” the composer argued.

“ I….” he cut her off.

Yes, yes I know how things are done. Honey, we have to face facts, we are not a conventional couple.” he informed her.

“Maybe we could bend the rules just a tiny bit,” Calypso conceded.

That’s my girl!” the Composer cheered kissing her again.

“Now about the wedding,” she started.

“I know I know Ladies domain,” the Composer said.

“I was thinking maybe we could plan it together,” she said hopefully.

“Yes, our first event as husband and wife,” he agreed.  
The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is kinda cheesy and i'm not quite satisfied with it. I'm not very good with romance but i wanted to write a Muse artist relationship that wasn't all doom and gloom. Which was hard becuse the nature of the Lenan sid he artist relationship is pretty messed up. While i do think its a bit far fetched for a 19th century guy to be so open about his mistress i'm chalking it up to the fact the Composer is the go after what i want and don't give a dam type of guy. 
> 
> As for Calypso, i've noticed that a lot of supernatural beings have twenty first century attitudes even if their decades old. People in their fifties and sixties have attitudes we consider outdated. I'm not saying that people who were ahead of their time didn't exist but the idea of a character who never put the old ways behind them no matter how the world around her changed was interesting to me.

**Author's Note:**

> These one shots are like my other pieces connected to the same universe. i've wanted to do this one for a while since the Lenan sid he play a pretty big role within my world. Also the dark muse is one of my personal favorite Faeire creatures.  
While the stories strictly specify them as women. However given what we know about the history of the art world both Women and LGTBQ artists did in fact exist. So some lenan sid he being male makes sense to me.


End file.
